


Relax

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Aged-Up Character(s), Bondage, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Gags, Handcuffs, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, Quadrant Confusion, Quadrant Vacillation, Spreader Bars, Troll Biology, Vibrators, Xeno, mentions of vriska serket - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4795871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sollux's guide on how to chill Eridan the fuck out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relax

            Eridan never relaxed. He was tense all the time, skulking around hallways in the middle of the day and avoiding humans and trolls whenever possible. You think he’s gotten thinner; maybe he’s not eating. He’s smaller than you now, you know he’s growing slower than the rest of you due to his place on the hemospectrum. He really needs a moirail, or something, you think. He’s only filled one quadrant though, with you of all trolls. And the shambled mess that you two have created can barely be considered a quadrant. You flip between black and red so often you hardly know where you stand anymore. But you know you have to do something to chill him out.

            Anyway, now’s probably not the time to be thinking about all of these things. Not when you have Eridan pinned to the wall firmly with your psionics. It was hard not to laugh, actually, because he looked so shocked when you jumped him like that. His eyes are wide, and his fins flared aggressively. He’s always been a little scared of you, you think, because he goes pale whenever he’s caught in this kind of position. You think, if you pressed your hand over his chest, you’d be able to feel his heartbeat racing in his chest. Half of you is pissed that he’s in a quadrant with you but seems to any of the fundamental trust, but the other half of you pities him.

            You suppress a sigh, and reach under the concupiscent platform to grab the box the two of you put together for nights like these. He needs this. He starts to squirm against the psionic restraints when he sees the box. So he knows where this is going. You smirk, and drag him over to the concupiscent platform, positioning him on his back.

            “Sol, what’re we doin’ here?” Eridan asks, or growls more like, trying to regain some of his composure. He wants to know whether the two of you are going with this, black or red. Of course, you’re all red tonight. Or, mostly, anyways.

            “It’th a thurprithe,” you smirk, before leaning to capture his mouth in a kiss. He lets you in easily enough, still unsure of himself, and you slip your forked tongue into his mouth. While he’s distracted, you use your psionics to fish some handcuffs out from the box. No use trying to hold him still with your psionics the whole time. You’re good, but you’re not that good. He groans into your mouth when you fumble with them momentarily, before locking them firmly around his wrists and the headboard. The handcuffs are meant to stand up to highblood strength; good because Eridan is likely to struggle. He always does. Your headboard, on the other hand...    

            You continue to kiss him and use your psionics to shred his clothes. He growls into your mouth, and nips at your lower lip, drawing a bead of yellow blood.

            You pull back, ignoring Eridan’s muffled whine at the loss of contact, and again reach into the box and pull out a spreader bar and a ring gag. Eridan growls again, and starts to fight back, spitting curses and kicking his legs as you fasten the spreader bar, and shaking his head back and forth when you try to secure the gag. He continues to make threatening noises under his breath, but it’s hardly intimidating anymore. As a final touch, you ask him;

            “You good?” he nods. If he isn’t at any point, he’s sure to let you know. You’ll probably lose your headboard in the process, though...

            You start to pet him lightly, running clawed hands up and down his sides and chest until he squirms in earnest. You smirk down at him, and he glares back, trying to get you to stop. It’s hardly working, what with the drool leaking from behind the gag.

            You start to rub your hands along his gill slits, and he shivers lightly, trying to squirm away. You normally only put your hands near his gills when you’re playing red, but for some reason it doesn’t seem to be registering with him. He’s still looking at you with this look of trepidation, probably worried you’ll be bringing out the claws. Gently, and ever so carefully, you run your fingers underneath the gill flaps, and watch as his face twists in this mix of pleasure and anxiety. You slowly remove your hands, and resume your gentle petting. You don’t want him anxious, the whole point of this is to relax him; and since you’re definitely not his moirail, pailing seems to be the best way to go.

            So, you finally start focusing your attention elsewhere. Looking down, you see that his bulge has unsheathed slightly, and is squirming around between his legs. You reach down and coax it out with your hand, squeezing and pulling gently. He moans and tenses slightly, trying in vain to close his legs. But he can’t hide himself from you right now. You move your hand lower, brushing his nook, and the noises he makes are just... undeniably beautiful. He’s wet when you gently slide a finger inside, working it slowly in and out, until he’s writhing and trying to push down onto you. You add a second, and then a third, pushing gently against his inner walls and he whines for you, squirming for more, faster, harder.

            You lean your head down suddenly and he flinches, yanking his cuffs against the headboard in warning. He expected you to bite him, you think. Shit, you knew he had a rough time with Vriska, and it hurts a bit that he hasn’t gotten over that with you yet. It hurts that he doesn’t quite trust you not to cause him some sort of irreparable damage.

            Instead of dwelling on it for too long, you swipe your tongue over his nook. His whole body clenches, and he trills high in his throat. You smirk. You rarely eat him out, but when you do, it’s always so easy to make him come apart. You use one hand to keep his now-thrashing bulge at bay, and he whines when you pin it down. You use your other hand to spread the lips of his nook and thrust your tongue inside of him. He’s much cooler than you are, but you know that the contrast in temperature drives him wild.

            It isn’t long before his head is moving back and forth and his hands are clenched desperately. His moans grow more frantic as he gets closer and closer to his release. He just needs a little more... You bring one hand up and grab the base of his writhing bulge, massaging firmly. Just as you neck starts to seriously ache from the position, his whole body seizes and you almost drown in genetic material. Okay, maybe you don’t nearly drown, but there sure is a lot of it.

            When you raise your head, he looks appropriately scandalized. You grin, and lean forward to run your fingers along the spines of his ear fins. He almost purrs, you can feel it bubbling up in his chest. But he still has this hunted look about him. His fins twitch lower when you reach into the box again, and he tries to crane his neck to figure out what you’re bringing out. You hide it from his view, and you can see him getting nervous again. You maneuver the vibrator out of his sight, and then press it against the lips of his nook.

            He whines softly and you push it in, making sure it rests against the parts of him that are the most sensitive. His nook clenches around it, but you make no move to turn it on; instead, you begin tracing patterns around his grub scars, and enjoying the abrupt noises you pull out of him. You let your psionics dance around your fingertips, and watch in fascination as Eridan’s skin begins twitching. He can’t control the drool leaking out from around the gag, and the small chirps and glubs that escape his mouth.

            With one hand, you reach down and flick the vibrator on. You have to push him down to keep him from arching off the bed. He struggles to close his legs, to squirm, to do anything to counteract the pleasure, but he can’t. You smooth your hands down the insides of his trembling thighs, and wonder if you can make him come without touching his bulge. You’re merciful, however.

            While one hand continues to play around his grub scars, the other moves down to tangle with his bulge. Eridan begins to moan outright, higher and higher as his climax approaches. It takes about five minutes, and you can see him trying to hold back, but eventually he spills his slurry all over you concupiscent platform, though it’s noticeably less than his first orgasms-worth.

            But you don’t turn off the vibrator, and you can see the alarm in Eridan’s eyes as his body continues to tremble. You lean forwards and pepper light, surprisingly chaste kisses all over his face and he seems to relax. He doesn’t look like he’s waiting for you to bite his fins off anymore. He continues to sigh and let out these warbling moans that go straight to your bulge. You reach down and release it from your pants, sighing in relief as it is no longer straining against the rough material.

            He’s getting shakier, you notice, thighs trembling visibly as his third orgasm approaches. You don’t want to stop at three; you’re aiming for four. But your starting to wonder if he’s gonna make it that far. He’s got this dazed, faraway look in his eyes, almost staring right through you.

            His third orgasm is long, drawn out, and intense, judging by the noises he makes. You left his bulge alone this time, in an effort to keep it from getting sore. You shut off the vibrator, pulling a relieved sigh from Eridan, but start toying with his bulge again, brushing you knuckles along the underside and alternating squeezing and stroking with the other hand. You know that if he sheathes, it’ll be a struggle to get him aroused again. He whines pathetically, trying to toss you off. You can see his fists tighten and his eyes squeeze shut.

            “You think you can do one more? Jutht one more? For me?” You lisp, gently smoothing his sweaty hair away from his face. He stares up at you with lidded eyes.

            After a second of thought, Eridan nods.

            “You don’t have to,” you reassure. He nods again, and trills for you.

            “Thith ith the latht one,” you reassure. He nods one last time. You gently guide your split bulge to his nook, and push in. His cool tightness surrounds you, and he clamps down. You moan outright. You try to hold you bulges still, just to let him get used to the intrusion. You know the temperature difference drives him crazy, and you don’t want to push his abused nook too far.

                Finally, he starts to squirm, trying to entice you into moving. With a sigh of relief, you let go. You let your bulges thrash inside of his, brushing against the walls of his fluttering nook. You’re so close, you didn’t realize how much toying with him had turned you on. You thrash inside of him, squeezing and stroking his bulge in rhythm with your sporadic movements. When he finally tumbles over the edge the fourth time, it’s with a hoarse cry, and you follow soon after.

                You then begin undoing his restraints while he’s still basking in the afterglow. The handcuffs go first, and you gently massage his wrists to get the blood flowing again with sparks of psionics. Next, the ring gag comes off. He doesn’t say anything, and he’s starting to get this worried look about him again. You hope all your work hasn’t been for nothing. You remove the spreader bar last. You reach an arm behind him and sit him up against the headboard of your concupiscent platform, and get up to go get a glass of water. Before you can go very far, his hand is around your wrist. You look back at him, and he quickly lets go, face flushed, and you remember he hates being left alone after pailing.

                “Jutht going to get a glath of water. Be right back,” You reassure. His flush deepens, but he nods, uncharacteristically quiet. You quickly retrieve the glass from your meal block, and return to him. He accepts it gratefully, and you chide him when he tries to drink it too fast as you drink your own water.

                “Come on, time to hit the ‘coon,” you say. He follows you, exhaustion dripping off his frame, right to your bifurcated recooperacoon. You decide to share a ‘coon for tonight, however. When you both settle in, he inches slowly closer to you until you give in and wrap your arms around him.

                “Flushed for ya,” he mumbles, already half asleep.

                “Fluthed for you too, you giant wreck,”


End file.
